Mamallapuram - A Day in the Life of a Farming Village

On the third day of our land tour, we were scheduled to visit a typical farming village. This "Day in the Life" activity is a part of every OAT tour and it was one of the most memorable experiences of my trip.  Jaisingh had told us that 70% of India's population still lives in villages, so I was curious to get a first-hand look at village life. Our visit took place on a Saturday, when most of the residents were home from work and school.  The village, where we spent several hours, was located about 15 or 20 minutes from Mamallapuram, not far from the town of Chengalpattu.

A welcoming committee was on hand to greet us with drum-playing and warm smiles.  A few of the village women then gave us a lesson in how to make intricate designs in the dirt using white rice powder.  They do this in front of their houses everyday as a way of bringing beauty into their lives.  It was obvious that poverty didn’t mean a lack or dignity or pride.  The women were dressed in beautiful saris and all displayed at least some gold jewelry.  Even the children were clean and well-dressed.  I thought back to Jaisingh’s discussion of caste, and how Hinduism teaches that every person has his or her place in society.  There’s no guilt associated with being poor. 

Clearly, some of the villagers were more affluent than others.  The homes we saw ranged from a widow’s simple hut to substantial two-story houses.  The village was fairly spread out and we traveled around its unpaved streets by foot and in the back of truck.  Animals were a part of the picture, of course – cows, goats, chickens, stray dogs.  We were also happy to see some of the children that we recognized from the previous day’s school visit.

The villagers were very enthusiastic about showing us their daily routines.  A woman frying papadams (a type of bread) allowed me to drop a circle of dough into the pot of hot oil.  

A farmer brought us to the yard behind his house to showed us how to milk a cow.  After his demonstration, I had a chance to try it myself.  It's not as easy as it looks. 

At the village temple, a simple shrine to Shiva, we witnessed a Brahmin performing a puja which involved pouring milk over a statue of the elephant-headed Ganesha.  

In another location, we observed a woman taking handfuls of cow dung and flattening them on the ground to make cow patties, which the villagers burn for fuel.  When offered the opportunity to try this myself, I politely declined.  Kudos to fellow traveler Becky, who gamely volunteered.  (Note that someone provided her a pair of rubber gloves.) 

The most unexpected part of the visit occurred near midday, shortly after we arrived at the home of the village shaman, or healer.  As the shaman, a woman in her thirties or forties, was explaining her role in healing the illnesses of the villagers, a woman in our group suddenly collapsed from the heat.  We scrambled to lift her from the ground and as soon as the woman was seated in a chair, the shaman let out a blood-curdling scream that caught us all by surprise.  For the next few minutes, as we stood spellbound, the shaman chanted over the woman, threw water and flowers over her, and struck her with branches.  The woman eventually opened her eyes and appeared just fine. 

The village shaman 

The experience was a reminder of how diligent I had to be in this heat about drinking plenty of water and staying out of the sun to avoid dehydration.  I was getting pretty hungry at that point and I was looking forward to the lunch the village women were preparing for us.  Much to my relief, the villagers had set up tables and benches for us under the shade of an enormous banyan tree.  While I gulped down more bottled water, the women opened containers of food they had cooked at home and some of the village children set out banana leaves for us to use as plates.  Fortunately, they provided us with plastic utensils.  I still hadn’t mastered the art of eating with my right hand, as most Indians do.  The meal consisted of fried fish (caught locally), rice, dhal, curd, and beautifully seasoned vegetables – and those crispy and highly addictive papadams, too.  All the food was delicious.  It was spicy, of course, but I’m sure the cooks toned down the heat level in deference to our Western palates. 

 

Meanwhile, the children were fascinated by my iPad, which I’d brought along for note-taking purposes.  They were disappointed that I didn’t have any games for them to play (I guess children are the same everywhere), but they occupied themselves typing out emojis until it was time for us to leave. 

By mid-afternoon, we were back at the resort.  I changed into a swimsuit and took a stroll on the beach where big waves were crashing on the sand.  There were only a few other people on the beach, mostly Indian couples and a very persistent hawker trying to sell me necklaces and anklets.  It seemed strange that no one else was in swimming attire.  The men were wearing long pants and the women were wearing saris, which they lifted up daintily as they stepped closer to the water.  The surf rushing around my bare legs felt so good!  The water was a perfect temperature, the sun was shining and a light breeze cooled my skin – in December!  I was still grappling with the reality that I was half a world away from home.

We finished up the day with a group dinner in town although no one was very hungry after the big lunch we’d eaten in the village.  On the way back from the restaurant, I stopped into a tailor shop on the main road to see if I could get some Indian clothes made.  The tailor assured me that he’d have the outfit completed by the following day.  You can see the fabric I found in the photo below. 

It was well after sunset when I started walking back to the hotel.  I had my flashlight but there was plenty of light from shops and traffic.  Motor scooters zoomed past, horns honking.  Groups of men gathered around street food stands and spicy aromas filled the air.  I experienced a certain sense of the surreal, as if I were a visitor from another planet, which often happens when I’m traveling and I find myself in very unfamiliar surroundings.  And to add to the sense of unreality, I nearly bumped into a blue-horned cow who was camped out right in my path.  It turned briefly in my direction and gazed calmly at me, not at all perturbed by my sudden appearance.  I had to laugh in disbelief – here I was, walking in the dark along a dusty road somewhere in southern India, in a world I never could have imagined a few days ago, and I was having a marvelous time.